Chapter 11 - A Himalayan Master and a Cave. India 1967

B continues to tread his way through the foothills in search of a guru worthy of his rice bowl. Crunching loose stones beneath his sandals, he claims the Himalayas for his stage. With every step he sinks deeper into his quest and further away from all that he's leaving behind. He yearns to plunge himself into an ancient world, whispers of which floated into his childhood and youth, instilling him with the conviction that there is another, higher way to live.

Whilst engrossed in the process of life, his heart and mind are too stirred up by people and events to possibly understand the nature of it all. He needs to find the calmest viewing point available, to minimise his living needs and get as much breathing space as he can - Only then will he stand a chance of seeing clearly.

Only his hormones protest. For it has to be said that the sex life of secluded mountain yogis is not one of their more impressive features. Nor do they keep bundles of pornography squashed under their meditation rocks. D is young, virile and in bitter conflict with his genetic tendencies.

All things considered, he can't honestly confess to be world-weary, after all, he's only twenty. But there's a definite peace up here in the mountain heights, away from the steaming dust-pits of the Indian cities, that appeals to something age-old within him. And he guesses this is only the beginning; that far above the network of roads and trails that link these small villages, cooking their beans and chapattis on wood burners within their clay and cow-shit houses, there are lofty realms completely detached from the lives of the chattering masses who argue over the price of onions. But he also knows that these kingdoms of peace are harsh, inhospitable places to the new-comer and to gain entrance he must make the right introductions.

He has heard of a baba called the 'child-guru' and this seems promising - it would be a nice change from the self-seriousness most holy men in loin cloths feel obliged to carry. He is respectfully known as Maharishi and is said to be a healer who has cured hundreds of thousands of people in his lifetime. Everywhere his name is met with stern nods of respect or tender smiles of reminiscence for the time he healed Aunty Kisni's verucas.

B comes to the village where M was last seen and makes his bed in a temple beside a flickering dhuni where some grumbling sadhus are worrying about their next cup of chai. At 4am he grabs his blanket and stick and marches up, out of the village into the dewy sanctuary of some apple orchards. There, beneath branches shading him from the light of the stars, he sets down his deerskin and tries to empty his mind.

An hour later, daylight is running amok and the song of the birds reminds D that he is on that dangerous frontier where meditative trance meets numb doziness. This is confirmed by a nearby voice that shakes D to attentiom:

"You should keep your back straight!" D turns to face the grizzly tones and sees a short, rounded man with white running through his beard and untamed, frizzy hair. It's M. "Time for breakfast." M announces and begins to walk on up the hill. D scrambles his things together and dashes in pursuit of the fast-vanishing figure who sets far swifter a pace than is reasonable for a man of his age. D is afraid that he has lost him but, by the time he lurches his body over the last ridge, he sees M in the mouth of a small cave. He's heating up water in a tiffin can over a small fire between three long-established stones.

M gazes out on the valley and warms his hands on the fire, feeding in sticks and brush every now and then. He makes no indication that he's aware of B's arrival and the young Englishman takes himself a seat on a rock to the side of the fire. He understands that if he's to have any chance of being accepted then he must demonstrate his patience as a serious student. If he can't stay silent for a few minutes at a time then how would he be able to stand months of having no one to talk to?

The water boils and M disappears inside the cave to rummage around in some cloth bags. He returns with some cracked wheat, ghee, sugar and a few raisins which he uses to brew up a porridge. Silently, D watches the piece of history before him as he makes the breakfast in single-minded focus to his task. He moves around the flame, adding sticks and stirring the pot with the economy of decades spent squatting around a fire.

Age emanates from his body like a musty odour and D guesses he must be over seventy. But M has none of the decrepit traces of the old: his joints are supple, his skin smooth and his forehead entirely free of wrinkles - What stress can this man have had to endure?

M serves up the bowls without a word. D sits down close, swelling with pride that he's already breaking bread with the old man. But M turns his back and hunches over his bowl, investing his entire attention in slurping and swallowing the sweet wheat mash.

When he finishes he turns round with a happy sigh and suddenly remembers there is this skinny foreigner sitting by him, come looking for answers, bringing only a head full of questions. He looks him up and down with a severe eye until D can hardly bear the wordless interrogation that goes deeper than is comfortable.

"Hmm," M finally grunts, "So I hear from the villagers that you want to become a shepherd?" He speaks with mock gravity but young D is too earnest to recognise the levity.

"Well, not exactly - Though I would like to get far above and beyond it all. A cave is what I really want! A cave with wide views, a stash of simple foods and some authentic meditation practice to fill the days."

"Really?" M appraises in good humour, "You want to be Buddha of the Himalayas? A holy man levitating above your own shit? You wouldn't need to find a flat piece of ground then!" He roars with laughter and D wonders if he'll be taken seriously in his intentions. But then M pulls himself together and hoists his bag on his shoulder. "This is a pretty small place but it's dry and there are some supplies inside. Water comes from the stream a hundred metres that way. I'll be back in three days." M stands and starts to walk down the hillside without another word. D is numbed for a moment and then rises up to shout:

"Don't you want me to do anything while you're away? No visualisations or mantras or anything?"

M stops in his tracks and puts his hand to his chin as he thinks carefully. He looks to the sky for inspiration and scratches his head. Furrows appear on his forehead and his chin juts wistfully. Finally, he looks D straight in the face:

"No." He says blankly and skips off down the hill before his own laughter can overtake him.

All in all, it had not been the kind of first encounter that D had expected or hoped for. He had not been recognised in awe as a long-displaced Light from the West come home to his rightful place as a Himalayan mystic. M had not stared into his eyes and announced with amazement that he was simply ripe for Realisation. In fact, M had shown no more surprise at finding him than at coming across a stray goat, ripping up anything green in sight.

B wonders what to do with himself and decides that if he's going to follow this guy he might as well begin to glean something from his moment-to-moment manner. He relaxes and lets drop his projections about initiations and secret treasures of Himalayan mysticism. His thoughts at once turn to far more important subjects - Are there any sweets in this cave?

Three mornings later, D is making yoga when he sees M ascending the hill, a little slower this time with a sack on his back. He's accompanied by a grinning, hulky lad of fourteen who's carrying about twice as much supplies. M climbs the last ridge without losing any breath until he sees D.

"You're still here!" He gasps with tongue-in-cheek astonishment. "I suppose you must be serious, then! Are you ready to go?" D takes up his cloth bag with enthusiasm and doesn't bother to ask where they're going, just as long as they're going somewhere.

M grabs one or two things from the cave and then leads the way on a trail up to the right over some loose scrambling ground. This joins with a more-traversed path for a while and as they follow a zigzag ladder up, the valley opens up around them. The slate roofs of the houses disappear from view and the hills to their sides expand their girth. Even the glaciers reveal new curves of flashing white made brilliant by the sunshine. Thick forest covers all the valley slopes and they are still low enough for much of it to be lush and tropical.

They are sharing the loads and they tread their way with slow, patient steps. Maintaining this tempo that allows a steady rhythm to get beneath their feet and push them up on their way. To B's relief, they break off from the common herder's trail and into a forest of tall, looming oaks and cypresses. The sun is excluded and the resulting shade is a welcome cool for these three sweating bodies. They're even more favoured when a breeze strikes up and the trees circulate curious whispers as to where this unlikely trio might be off to. The floor is soft and moist, if a little slippery from recent rain, and everywhere are mushrooms of a thousand kinds: red, yellow, green and blue, they are small as acorns and large as tyres, plunging out of the ground with certainty that the open air is best.

Two hours later, they clear the forest and come round a corner to a healthy plateau with papaya and banana trees growing. Set back a little is a large cave with a curved overhang. Birds are attacking the fruit but fly off guiltily as our trio of mountaineers arrive.

"Home, sweet home!" M sings with cackling glee. They set down their things and bounce around on the springy turf with the short-lived weightlessness of being free from their packs. D looks around in admiration for this set-up. True, the views of the snow cascades upon the peaks to either end of the valley are a little obscured by the orchard, but the trees themselves breathe a billowing calm and throw pleasant patches of shade upon the grass where he looks forward to sitting and looking wise. Here is a place he could spend some time. It's far enough from the villages that no one is likely to come to visit and yet close enough that if he's dying for a cup of yoghurt he can always sneak down once in a while to quiet his cravings.

B comes up to the cave, ducks the overhang and discovers a largish dome inside not quite high enough for him to stand at full height though M manages okay. The sacred fireplace is made of a circle of clay shelves and there are still a few chunks of half-burned wood inside.

"Hmmm, looks like there's been some bats coming in here!" M growls with distaste, "There's some bat-shit in the corner."

"Is that a problem?" D asks.

" Of course it's a problem! It may be very good for problems of the eye but it's the worst stuff for living with! It sticks, stains, smells like putrid menstruation and ruins everything! It gets on your clothes, in your pots, on your hands - and once on, it takes hours of freezing your hands in the stream to get rid of the smell and even then it gets into your cooking!" M concludes, almost shouting in his fervour. He walks outside and instantly becomes calm again. "So, Krishna here has carried up for you the basic supplies of rice, dal and chapatti flour that you'll need. Along with the fruit growing here it should be enough. There's some sacking in the corner for sleeping but you'll need to shake it out and put it in the sun to kill any lice." M looks D straight in the face as they squat around the cave entrance. "There are some bears around so don't wander too far or they might come to raid your food. You can hear the stream and there are a few herbs growing there which you might recognise."

"How do they taste?" D asks.

"Awful. The village will come to know that a disciple of mine is living here so you might get the odd visitor. Do not speak to them but scribble your replies on the chalk and slate here." He is as serious now as he was comic before, "It is important to let fly of the little things that have been crowding your mind. No work can really begin until you've overcome the novelty of this lifestyle and dropped the preconceptions you've had about it.

Most of all, you need silence. The quiet will be the music to lure out your calm from where it hides beneath the mess of personality." He breaks the lecture with the smile that is the nestling vitality under his aged features. His eyes glow a soft brown. "And really, try to enjoy your time here! Understand the richness of this place! We're kings with a banquet supplied each day by this royal orchard and no doubt the mountains themselves bow to us the moment before we wake up."

M stands and gathers his few possessions. " There's no hurry in this way of life and you have at least another fifty years to conquer your ego if that's what you want to do! Ultimately, you must be your own guru though it will take some time before your mind quietens down enough to allow your true voice to be heard.

Try to sleep soon after sunset and be awake long before dawn. Start the day with a cold wash and a shit. Then sit quietly with straight spine until the sunlight comes but don't try too hard for too long - There's no hurry! If you get somewhere with your meditation then good! If you make no progress at all, don't worry about it! It's not that important. We're very small flags blowing in a very big wind, after all.

Eat just twice a day and make fruit one of the meals. I'm not certain when I'll be back! " He turns and walks out with the young helper. He pauses for a moment and says: "Oh, and if you've guzzled all of my orchard by the time I return, I'll put you on a diet of bat shit for the next six months!" Giggling, he slips away.

B finds himself as lord of an amazing realm and can't believe that he's landed on his feet in this way. He can see that the cave life is mostly a do-it-yourself affair where there's not much to do but get on with Existence itself. He explores the back of the cave and discovers that it backs on to the latest in studio apartment stone walls. A curve in the cave offers some protection against the wind and most importantly of all, there are no snakes. The place feels friendly enough to be called home for a while and he's just amazed that it's all happened so fast.

He feels the elation of having achieved just what he wanted and intuits that it can only get better as he sinks deeper into this world. He walks out to the trees and yanks free a banana in the late afternoon sun. Yeah, life tastes good and he doesn't have to worry about the latest fashion - Long dreads and matted hair with tasteful loincloth are in.

The mountains are still playing host to a lot of snow and young, green life is bursting out of the ground everywhere. The stream runs merrily and strong, its glacier source reinforced by the snows of the previous winter. The splashing of water duets with the wind swirling in the branches of the trees, welcoming D to this holy land. Red and white birds rocket through the sky like missiles of colour. They alight on the thinnest of high branches and co-ordinate a tag team race between them as they skirt along the edges of the valley. Geckos chase each other around on the rocks, jutting their chins in display before diving into another bush. D grins as he watches the profusion of life all around him. In a place like this, how could he possibly feel alone?